The Iconar Collective (OUTDATED)

[+JesterLavorre]

Now that I finished RoW, I can finally read the newest chapter of this!

I like this one. It’s nice to just get some wholesome time with some nice people and a kid.

The two sentences at the end are a little weird, though. What could they mean?

[Condensation]

Hey, someone should remind me about this eventually so I'll do a reread. Not yet(no time rn) but eventually.

[Bearer of all agonies]

Ok. Do a reread!

[Channelknight Fadran]

Chapter 17

This one has had little to no editing, so... don't judge too harshly.

Spoiler

Chapter XVII - Name Pending

    Oblivion, the Calamitous of Sunken Deep, sat across from the most renowned assassin in Ivinan. His messengers had informed him of the assassin’s handiwork; their technique, their ability to get in and get out of a building before anybody noticed their target had been killed. They told him the assassin wasn’t cheap, but he wouldn’t have it any other way—he needed someone with quality for his attack.

    He hadn’t expected them to be a girl; nor had he expected them to be hot.

    “The name’s Avelyn.” She said, holding out her hand. She wore a sleeveless leather cuirass that revealed slender yet muscular arms. “Professional assassin, at your service. Normally I don’t give away that information, but I’m assuming that someone of your kind is just as wary of the law as I am.”

    There was no disdain or hatred in her voice as she addressed Calamitous Oblivion; those emotions had likely been stamped out by her unforgiving profession.

    “So you have a job for me? Enclave Knight? Rival demon?”

    “Not exactly.” Calamitous would’ve winced at the mention of a rival demon had he been a more jumpy person. “How many nobles have you killed?”

    “A few. They aren’t cheap, though.”

    “I’m not worried about the money; I’m worried about the message I need to send.”

    Avelyn cocked her head. “You want it done on the Pentamillenial Festival?”

    “That’s right.”

    “Alright; which one do you want dead? Merdias? Aiegre?”

    He leaned in close. “The king.”

    Avelyn frowned, then sat back and kicked her boots up on the table. She wore a black skirt over gray tights; relatively functional clothing. Out of the corner of his eye, Oblivion could see the bartender quietly protesting her abuse of the tabletop, but one glance at the daggers in her ankle straps was enough to shut him up.

    “I’ll admit, you’re not the first one to ask me that.” She said.

    “I assumed not.”

    “You think you’re good for the money, though? You’re going to have to pay up a pretty crescent if you think you’re going to get me to even step foot in that castle.”

    “I’ll give you double if you execute it well enough.”

    Avelyn leaned forwards. “I’m listening.”

    “I haven’t completely fleshed out the entire plan yet, but I’m well aware that your art takes a bit of… preparation, correct?”

    “Yep. I don’t suppose there’s any special way you want me to infiltrate that place?”

    “There is not. I just need the king to be the first casualty.”

    “The… first casualty?”

    “I told you I needed to send a message.”

    Avelyn nodded. “Alright. I usually go for the handmaid approach; join the servants, sneak in my knives, do the dirty work, get out. That work for you?”

    “As long as you make sure that the dirty work takes place on the Pentamillenial, when we’re all in place.”

    “We? There’re more of you?”

    “I’ve been preparing this for quite some time.”

    “Then it would be a pity if you failed. How much money do you think you have?”

    “How much do you need?”

    “I want a down payment of ten thousand crescents, then another ninety after I’m done. Double both of that for your little ‘bonus’ of yours.”

    “Two hundred thousand? I hope you don’t need that in cash.”

    “Down payment in cash, the rest in whatever you need to do to make it work, so as long as you don’t get me a hundred ninety thousand crescents worth of dirt or anything.”

    “Merchants’ Ingots, then?”

    “That works. As long as I get paid. So you have… what, three months?”

    “Three months, one week, four days, and approximately eight hours.”

    “Get me the plan a month in advance. You’ll have it done by then, I hope?”

    “I should. I can find you here?”

    Avelyn nodded, the took her boots off the table and stood. “Well… I’ve got a job to do, if you don’t mind.”

    “Not at all.” Calamitous Oblivion stood himself, holding out his hand for Avelyn to shake. “I’ll get you your money tomorrow morning.”

    “Sounds good. See you around.” Avelyn slipped out of the bar before he could reply.

    Oblivion glanced down at his unshaken hand, shrugging and placing it on his sword. A few of the patrons in the bar gave him double-takes when they realized his race of a demon. Some of them glared at him, reaching for bottles or knives.

    As much as he would like to show all those drunkards who was boss, the whole idea of the plan was to not draw attention to himself.

    He exited the pub, hoping nobody followed him; he couldn’t be sure that his elites would restrain themselves as much as he did. He took a detour anyways, just to be safe, winding through alleyways and narrow streets before circling back to an abandoned cottage.

    His soldiers were sitting in dark nooks and crannies, but Oblivion could see them just fine. It was when they moved through the light that he had trouble making out their features—no one was really sure why demons had the roles of light and dark reversed for their eyes, but the trait was rather helpful for hiding from everybody except their own.

    “Well?” One of them asked.

    Oblivion smiled. “We have ourselves an assassin, boys; everything’s going according to plan.”

 

---

 

    Avelyn stood with her back to a brick wall, daggers in hand as she listened to the guards discussing the upcoming Pentamillenial Festival.

    “...and he isn’t even inviting us! Us, his guards. He’s inviting a couple random kids from the Academy, but not us!”

    “He is inviting some people from the Enclave—people out on the field.”

    “He’s inviting a squadron that wins a competition, not one that wins some grand battle! The whole thing is rigged.”

    “Well, if we were all invited, then who’d protect everyone? The king could get assassinated or… something.”

    The king could get assassinated, all right; but Avelyn didn’t care about the security measures to prevent that. Guards or no guards, she’d get her job done.

    She retreated back out onto the street as the Waterlight rains began. She didn’t mind them that much. They were a welcome reminder that the world could keep going despite the things she’d done; the chaos she’d caused. The people she’d killed.

    Avelyn found her way back to the pub where she’d met the demon. He was nowhere to be found; and a good thing too. It probably wouldn’t have been good if her employer had been killed by a mob of angry drunkards.

    The patrons here were of one type: ex-soldiers. Specifically soldiers still haunted by the horrors of war. The kind who tried to drink their pain away. She had tried that after her first assassination—it hadn’t worked.

    The regulars didn’t spare her a second glance; they knew she wasn’t ‘available,’ and stayed out of her way. A few even knew what she did for a living. It was easy to tell who was new to the building; their eyes followed her from behind hoods, beards, and tall mugs of ale. She was careful not to approach these men, often for their sake more than hers. It was all too easy to instinctively run someone through the neck with a dagger if they did so much as flinch towards her.

    “Got another job?” The bartender asked, wiping a glass with a towel.

    “Yessir.”

    “That’s good, because you’ve only got a few months left on your room before the next bill.”

    “You’ll get your money.”

    “I’d better.”

    Avelyn left the conversation at that, hopping up onto the stairwell and climbing to her room. A couple young men catcalled as she passed them in the hallway, before laughing to themselves and going back to their conversation about—whatever teenage boys talked about. Probably nothing good.

    She ducked into her room, glancing about at the squalid conditions. Dusty floor, feather-stuffed bed, broken window, and the like. She pulled open a drawer, taking out the most expensive thing she owned: a blue silk dress that would make a noblewoman jealous. She folded it up best she could and stuffed it into a bag, then turned back to the drawer and pulled out another item: a fabricated proof of employment under the bartender downstairs.

    She placed that in her bag too, then took her daggers out of her ankle straps and placed them in the drawer. No need to bring weapons along with her for her job interview; they tended to tip the employer off that she was up to no good.

    Avelyn considered hopping out the window instead of passing back through the hordes of dirty vagabonds, but the idea was to act casual. If someone watched her leap from a second-story window and reported it to the guards, her shot at this job was over.

    So she left her room like a normal person, passing by the group of young men again. The eyed her handbag; for what reason, she couldn’t tell. One of them decided to speak up.

    “Date tonight?” He asked simply.

    She shook her head, smiling sweetly. “Not exactly.”

    Avelyn was down the stairs before they could respond, maneuvering around tables like she had a million times. The regulars spared no glances, and the others barely had time to spot her. The bartender’s eyes flicked between her and her bag, and he released a near inaudible sigh; he’d seen her leave with it a number of times.

    A couple alley-dwelling thugs made to come at her as she exited the building, but quickly backed off when they saw who she was. They could probably tell that she didn’t have any knives on her; but then again, she hadn’t exactly needed daggers to teach them a forceful lesson a few weeks back. It looked like one of them was still limping from that.

    As she walked back to the castle, her mind turned to the Channelknigth Arcenea. Arcenea had been the only female Channelknight in the last Order, before the war between Ivinan and Sunken Deep had begun. After her husband, the Channelknight Wynden, had failed to stop Calamitous Eren from tearing apart the Iconar Collective, Arcenea was the only Channelknight to remain. It was her, alone, who had used the last of her magical abilities to create the Parallarity Gates and prevent the Collective from falling into chaos.

    Growing up on these stories had inspired Avelyn to become a warrior. She’d trained herself to fight, even going as far as to forge her own daggers. Some had told her that no girl could be a warrior, but the ones who had said that were likely just jealous of her ability.

    She compared where she had thought she was going to be in her life with where she actually was. As a child, she’d imagined herself as a stealth unit in the Enclave; on an elite force, infiltrating demon encampments, sabotaging their defenses and chain of command before the army arrived and finished the job. The king would congratulate her for her courage and ability, proclaiming her to be a warrior as strong and brave as Arcenea.

    Avelyn threw the dress on over her clothing, approaching the guards in front of the castle. She put on the face of a flustered, helpless young girl. “Hi, uh… where where could I apply for a job here? I can wait tables.”

    One of the guards thumbed at the door. “Just down the hallway.”

    “Thank you.”

    And yet, here she was: under a demon’s employ to assassinate the King of Ivinan on the night of the Pentamillenial Festival.

 

 

[Frustration]

36 minutes ago, Ookla the Channelknight said:

Chapter 17

This one has had little to no editing, so... don't judge too harshly.

  Reveal hidden contents

Chapter XVII - Name Pending

    Oblivion, the Calamitous of Sunken Deep, sat across from the most renowned assassin in Ivinan. His messengers had informed him of the assassin’s handiwork; their technique, their ability to get in and get out of a building before anybody noticed their target had been killed. They told him the assassin wasn’t cheap, but he wouldn’t have it any other way—he needed someone with quality for his attack.

    He hadn’t expected them to be a girl; nor had he expected them to be hot.

    “The name’s Avelyn.” She said, holding out her hand. She wore a sleeveless leather cuirass that revealed slender yet muscular arms. “Professional assassin, at your service. Normally I don’t give away that information, but I’m assuming that someone of your kind is just as wary of the law as I am.”

    There was no disdain or hatred in her voice as she addressed Calamitous Oblivion; those emotions had likely been stamped out by her unforgiving profession.

    “So you have a job for me? Enclave Knight? Rival demon?”

    “Not exactly.” Calamitous would’ve winced at the mention of a rival demon had he been a more jumpy person. “How many nobles have you killed?”

    “A few. They aren’t cheap, though.”

    “I’m not worried about the money; I’m worried about the message I need to send.”

    Avelyn cocked her head. “You want it done on the Pentamillenial Festival?”

    “That’s right.”

    “Alright; which one do you want dead? Merdias? Aiegre?”

    He leaned in close. “The king.”

    Avelyn frowned, then sat back and kicked her boots up on the table. She wore a black skirt over gray tights; relatively functional clothing. Out of the corner of his eye, Oblivion could see the bartender quietly protesting her abuse of the tabletop, but one glance at the daggers in her ankle straps was enough to shut him up.

    “I’ll admit, you’re not the first one to ask me that.” She said.

    “I assumed not.”

    “You think you’re good for the money, though? You’re going to have to pay up a pretty crescent if you think you’re going to get me to even step foot in that castle.”

    “I’ll give you double if you execute it well enough.”

    Avelyn leaned forwards. “I’m listening.”

    “I haven’t completely fleshed out the entire plan yet, but I’m well aware that your art takes a bit of… preparation, correct?”

    “Yep. I don’t suppose there’s any special way you want me to infiltrate that place?”

    “There is not. I just need the king to be the first casualty.”

    “The… first casualty?”

    “I told you I needed to send a message.”

    Avelyn nodded. “Alright. I usually go for the handmaid approach; join the servants, sneak in my knives, do the dirty work, get out. That work for you?”

    “As long as you make sure that the dirty work takes place on the Pentamillenial, when we’re all in place.”

    “We? There’re more of you?”

    “I’ve been preparing this for quite some time.”

    “Then it would be a pity if you failed. How much money do you think you have?”

    “How much do you need?”

    “I want a down payment of ten thousand crescents, then another ninety after I’m done. Double both of that for your little ‘bonus’ of yours.”

    “Two hundred thousand? I hope you don’t need that in cash.”

    “Down payment in cash, the rest in whatever you need to do to make it work, so as long as you don’t get me a hundred ninety thousand crescents worth of dirt or anything.”

    “Merchants’ Ingots, then?”

    “That works. As long as I get paid. So you have… what, three months?”

    “Three months, one week, four days, and approximately eight hours.”

    “Get me the plan a month in advance. You’ll have it done by then, I hope?”

    “I should. I can find you here?”

    Avelyn nodded, the took her boots off the table and stood. “Well… I’ve got a job to do, if you don’t mind.”

    “Not at all.” Calamitous Oblivion stood himself, holding out his hand for Avelyn to shake. “I’ll get you your money tomorrow morning.”

    “Sounds good. See you around.” Avelyn slipped out of the bar before he could reply.

    Oblivion glanced down at his unshaken hand, shrugging and placing it on his sword. A few of the patrons in the bar gave him double-takes when they realized his race of a demon. Some of them glared at him, reaching for bottles or knives.

    As much as he would like to show all those drunkards who was boss, the whole idea of the plan was to not draw attention to himself.

    He exited the pub, hoping nobody followed him; he couldn’t be sure that his elites would restrain themselves as much as he did. He took a detour anyways, just to be safe, winding through alleyways and narrow streets before circling back to an abandoned cottage.

    His soldiers were sitting in dark nooks and crannies, but Oblivion could see them just fine. It was when they moved through the light that he had trouble making out their features—no one was really sure why demons had the roles of light and dark reversed for their eyes, but the trait was rather helpful for hiding from everybody except their own.

    “Well?” One of them asked.

    Oblivion smiled. “We have ourselves an assassin, boys; everything’s going according to plan.”

 

---

 

    Avelyn stood with her back to a brick wall, daggers in hand as she listened to the guards discussing the upcoming Pentamillenial Festival.

    “...and he isn’t even inviting us! Us, his guards. He’s inviting a couple random kids from the Academy, but not us!”

    “He is inviting some people from the Enclave—people out on the field.”

    “He’s inviting a squadron that wins a competition, not one that wins some grand battle! The whole thing is rigged.”

    “Well, if we were all invited, then who’d protect everyone? The king could get assassinated or… something.”

    The king could get assassinated, all right; but Avelyn didn’t care about the security measures to prevent that. Guards or no guards, she’d get her job done.

    She retreated back out onto the street as the Waterlight rains began. She didn’t mind them that much. They were a welcome reminder that the world could keep going despite the things she’d done; the chaos she’d caused. The people she’d killed.

    Avelyn found her way back to the pub where she’d met the demon. He was nowhere to be found; and a good thing too. It probably wouldn’t have been good if her employer had been killed by a mob of angry drunkards.

    The patrons here were of one type: ex-soldiers. Specifically soldiers still haunted by the horrors of war. The kind who tried to drink their pain away. She had tried that after her first assassination—it hadn’t worked.

    The regulars didn’t spare her a second glance; they knew she wasn’t ‘available,’ and stayed out of her way. A few even knew what she did for a living. It was easy to tell who was new to the building; their eyes followed her from behind hoods, beards, and tall mugs of ale. She was careful not to approach these men, often for their sake more than hers. It was all too easy to instinctively run someone through the neck with a dagger if they did so much as flinch towards her.

    “Got another job?” The bartender asked, wiping a glass with a towel.

    “Yessir.”

    “That’s good, because you’ve only got a few months left on your room before the next bill.”

    “You’ll get your money.”

    “I’d better.”

    Avelyn left the conversation at that, hopping up onto the stairwell and climbing to her room. A couple young men catcalled as she passed them in the hallway, before laughing to themselves and going back to their conversation about—whatever teenage boys talked about. Probably nothing good.

    She ducked into her room, glancing about at the squalid conditions. Dusty floor, feather-stuffed bed, broken window, and the like. She pulled open a drawer, taking out the most expensive thing she owned: a blue silk dress that would make a noblewoman jealous. She folded it up best she could and stuffed it into a bag, then turned back to the drawer and pulled out another item: a fabricated proof of employment under the bartender downstairs.

    She placed that in her bag too, then took her daggers out of her ankle straps and placed them in the drawer. No need to bring weapons along with her for her job interview; they tended to tip the employer off that she was up to no good.

    Avelyn considered hopping out the window instead of passing back through the hordes of dirty vagabonds, but the idea was to act casual. If someone watched her leap from a second-story window and reported it to the guards, her shot at this job was over.

    So she left her room like a normal person, passing by the group of young men again. The eyed her handbag; for what reason, she couldn’t tell. One of them decided to speak up.

    “Date tonight?” He asked simply.

    She shook her head, smiling sweetly. “Not exactly.”

    Avelyn was down the stairs before they could respond, maneuvering around tables like she had a million times. The regulars spared no glances, and the others barely had time to spot her. The bartender’s eyes flicked between her and her bag, and he released a near inaudible sigh; he’d seen her leave with it a number of times.

    A couple alley-dwelling thugs made to come at her as she exited the building, but quickly backed off when they saw who she was. They could probably tell that she didn’t have any knives on her; but then again, she hadn’t exactly needed daggers to teach them a forceful lesson a few weeks back. It looked like one of them was still limping from that.

    As she walked back to the castle, her mind turned to the Channelknigth Arcenea. Arcenea had been the only female Channelknight in the last Order, before the war between Ivinan and Sunken Deep had begun. After her husband, the Channelknight Wynden, had failed to stop Calamitous Eren from tearing apart the Iconar Collective, Arcenea was the only Channelknight to remain. It was her, alone, who had used the last of her magical abilities to create the Parallarity Gates and prevent the Collective from falling into chaos.

    Growing up on these stories had inspired Avelyn to become a warrior. She’d trained herself to fight, even going as far as to forge her own daggers. Some had told her that no girl could be a warrior, but the ones who had said that were likely just jealous of her ability.

    She compared where she had thought she was going to be in her life with where she actually was. As a child, she’d imagined herself as a stealth unit in the Enclave; on an elite force, infiltrating demon encampments, sabotaging their defenses and chain of command before the army arrived and finished the job. The king would congratulate her for her courage and ability, proclaiming her to be a warrior as strong and brave as Arcenea.

    Avelyn threw the dress on over her clothing, approaching the guards in front of the castle. She put on the face of a flustered, helpless young girl. “Hi, uh… where where could I apply for a job here? I can wait tables.”

    One of the guards thumbed at the door. “Just down the hallway.”

    “Thank you.”

    And yet, here she was: under a demon’s employ to assassinate the King of Ivinan on the night of the Pentamillenial Festival.

 

 

Wouldn't Oblivian want one of his own assassins? Ones that would be less likely to betray him?

[Channelknight Fadran]

3 minutes ago, Ookla The Frustrated said:

Wouldn't Oblivian want one of his own assassins? Ones that would be less likely to betray him?

Yep. Because a demon girl could disguise herself as a waiter.

[Frustration]

10 minutes ago, Ookla the Channelknight said:

Yep. Because a demon girl could disguise herself as a waiter.

You really want a waiter assassin don't you?

Well if that's a must have why would he meet her himself? Rather risky.

[Channelknight Fadran]

6 minutes ago, Ookla The Frustrated said:

You really want a waiter assassin don't you?

Well if that's a must have why would he meet her himself? Rather risky.

...

[Guest Somebody from Scadrial]

7 hours ago, Ookla the Channelknight said:

Chapter 17

This one has had little to no editing, so... don't judge too harshly.

  Reveal hidden contents

Chapter XVII - Name Pending

    Oblivion, the Calamitous of Sunken Deep, sat across from the most renowned assassin in Ivinan. His messengers had informed him of the assassin’s handiwork; their technique, their ability to get in and get out of a building before anybody noticed their target had been killed. They told him the assassin wasn’t cheap, but he wouldn’t have it any other way—he needed someone with quality for his attack.

    He hadn’t expected them to be a girl; nor had he expected them to be hot.

    “The name’s Avelyn.” She said, holding out her hand. She wore a sleeveless leather cuirass that revealed slender yet muscular arms. “Professional assassin, at your service. Normally I don’t give away that information, but I’m assuming that someone of your kind is just as wary of the law as I am.”

    There was no disdain or hatred in her voice as she addressed Calamitous Oblivion; those emotions had likely been stamped out by her unforgiving profession.

    “So you have a job for me? Enclave Knight? Rival demon?”

    “Not exactly.” Calamitous would’ve winced at the mention of a rival demon had he been a more jumpy person. “How many nobles have you killed?”

    “A few. They aren’t cheap, though.”

    “I’m not worried about the money; I’m worried about the message I need to send.”

    Avelyn cocked her head. “You want it done on the Pentamillenial Festival?”

    “That’s right.”

    “Alright; which one do you want dead? Merdias? Aiegre?”

    He leaned in close. “The king.”

    Avelyn frowned, then sat back and kicked her boots up on the table. She wore a black skirt over gray tights; relatively functional clothing. Out of the corner of his eye, Oblivion could see the bartender quietly protesting her abuse of the tabletop, but one glance at the daggers in her ankle straps was enough to shut him up.

    “I’ll admit, you’re not the first one to ask me that.” She said.

    “I assumed not.”

    “You think you’re good for the money, though? You’re going to have to pay up a pretty crescent if you think you’re going to get me to even step foot in that castle.”

    “I’ll give you double if you execute it well enough.”

    Avelyn leaned forwards. “I’m listening.”

    “I haven’t completely fleshed out the entire plan yet, but I’m well aware that your art takes a bit of… preparation, correct?”

    “Yep. I don’t suppose there’s any special way you want me to infiltrate that place?”

    “There is not. I just need the king to be the first casualty.”

    “The… first casualty?”

    “I told you I needed to send a message.”

    Avelyn nodded. “Alright. I usually go for the handmaid approach; join the servants, sneak in my knives, do the dirty work, get out. That work for you?”

    “As long as you make sure that the dirty work takes place on the Pentamillenial, when we’re all in place.”

    “We? There’re more of you?”

    “I’ve been preparing this for quite some time.”

    “Then it would be a pity if you failed. How much money do you think you have?”

    “How much do you need?”

    “I want a down payment of ten thousand crescents, then another ninety after I’m done. Double both of that for your little ‘bonus’ of yours.”

    “Two hundred thousand? I hope you don’t need that in cash.”

    “Down payment in cash, the rest in whatever you need to do to make it work, so as long as you don’t get me a hundred ninety thousand crescents worth of dirt or anything.”

    “Merchants’ Ingots, then?”

    “That works. As long as I get paid. So you have… what, three months?”

    “Three months, one week, four days, and approximately eight hours.”

    “Get me the plan a month in advance. You’ll have it done by then, I hope?”

    “I should. I can find you here?”

    Avelyn nodded, the took her boots off the table and stood. “Well… I’ve got a job to do, if you don’t mind.”

    “Not at all.” Calamitous Oblivion stood himself, holding out his hand for Avelyn to shake. “I’ll get you your money tomorrow morning.”

    “Sounds good. See you around.” Avelyn slipped out of the bar before he could reply.

    Oblivion glanced down at his unshaken hand, shrugging and placing it on his sword. A few of the patrons in the bar gave him double-takes when they realized his race of a demon. Some of them glared at him, reaching for bottles or knives.

    As much as he would like to show all those drunkards who was boss, the whole idea of the plan was to not draw attention to himself.

    He exited the pub, hoping nobody followed him; he couldn’t be sure that his elites would restrain themselves as much as he did. He took a detour anyways, just to be safe, winding through alleyways and narrow streets before circling back to an abandoned cottage.

    His soldiers were sitting in dark nooks and crannies, but Oblivion could see them just fine. It was when they moved through the light that he had trouble making out their features—no one was really sure why demons had the roles of light and dark reversed for their eyes, but the trait was rather helpful for hiding from everybody except their own.

    “Well?” One of them asked.

    Oblivion smiled. “We have ourselves an assassin, boys; everything’s going according to plan.”

 

---

 

    Avelyn stood with her back to a brick wall, daggers in hand as she listened to the guards discussing the upcoming Pentamillenial Festival.

    “...and he isn’t even inviting us! Us, his guards. He’s inviting a couple random kids from the Academy, but not us!”

    “He is inviting some people from the Enclave—people out on the field.”

    “He’s inviting a squadron that wins a competition, not one that wins some grand battle! The whole thing is rigged.”

    “Well, if we were all invited, then who’d protect everyone? The king could get assassinated or… something.”

    The king could get assassinated, all right; but Avelyn didn’t care about the security measures to prevent that. Guards or no guards, she’d get her job done.

    She retreated back out onto the street as the Waterlight rains began. She didn’t mind them that much. They were a welcome reminder that the world could keep going despite the things she’d done; the chaos she’d caused. The people she’d killed.

    Avelyn found her way back to the pub where she’d met the demon. He was nowhere to be found; and a good thing too. It probably wouldn’t have been good if her employer had been killed by a mob of angry drunkards.

    The patrons here were of one type: ex-soldiers. Specifically soldiers still haunted by the horrors of war. The kind who tried to drink their pain away. She had tried that after her first assassination—it hadn’t worked.

    The regulars didn’t spare her a second glance; they knew she wasn’t ‘available,’ and stayed out of her way. A few even knew what she did for a living. It was easy to tell who was new to the building; their eyes followed her from behind hoods, beards, and tall mugs of ale. She was careful not to approach these men, often for their sake more than hers. It was all too easy to instinctively run someone through the neck with a dagger if they did so much as flinch towards her.

    “Got another job?” The bartender asked, wiping a glass with a towel.

    “Yessir.”

    “That’s good, because you’ve only got a few months left on your room before the next bill.”

    “You’ll get your money.”

    “I’d better.”

    Avelyn left the conversation at that, hopping up onto the stairwell and climbing to her room. A couple young men catcalled as she passed them in the hallway, before laughing to themselves and going back to their conversation about—whatever teenage boys talked about. Probably nothing good.

    She ducked into her room, glancing about at the squalid conditions. Dusty floor, feather-stuffed bed, broken window, and the like. She pulled open a drawer, taking out the most expensive thing she owned: a blue silk dress that would make a noblewoman jealous. She folded it up best she could and stuffed it into a bag, then turned back to the drawer and pulled out another item: a fabricated proof of employment under the bartender downstairs.

    She placed that in her bag too, then took her daggers out of her ankle straps and placed them in the drawer. No need to bring weapons along with her for her job interview; they tended to tip the employer off that she was up to no good.

    Avelyn considered hopping out the window instead of passing back through the hordes of dirty vagabonds, but the idea was to act casual. If someone watched her leap from a second-story window and reported it to the guards, her shot at this job was over.

    So she left her room like a normal person, passing by the group of young men again. The eyed her handbag; for what reason, she couldn’t tell. One of them decided to speak up.

    “Date tonight?” He asked simply.

    She shook her head, smiling sweetly. “Not exactly.”

    Avelyn was down the stairs before they could respond, maneuvering around tables like she had a million times. The regulars spared no glances, and the others barely had time to spot her. The bartender’s eyes flicked between her and her bag, and he released a near inaudible sigh; he’d seen her leave with it a number of times.

    A couple alley-dwelling thugs made to come at her as she exited the building, but quickly backed off when they saw who she was. They could probably tell that she didn’t have any knives on her; but then again, she hadn’t exactly needed daggers to teach them a forceful lesson a few weeks back. It looked like one of them was still limping from that.

    As she walked back to the castle, her mind turned to the Channelknigth Arcenea. Arcenea had been the only female Channelknight in the last Order, before the war between Ivinan and Sunken Deep had begun. After her husband, the Channelknight Wynden, had failed to stop Calamitous Eren from tearing apart the Iconar Collective, Arcenea was the only Channelknight to remain. It was her, alone, who had used the last of her magical abilities to create the Parallarity Gates and prevent the Collective from falling into chaos.

    Growing up on these stories had inspired Avelyn to become a warrior. She’d trained herself to fight, even going as far as to forge her own daggers. Some had told her that no girl could be a warrior, but the ones who had said that were likely just jealous of her ability.

    She compared where she had thought she was going to be in her life with where she actually was. As a child, she’d imagined herself as a stealth unit in the Enclave; on an elite force, infiltrating demon encampments, sabotaging their defenses and chain of command before the army arrived and finished the job. The king would congratulate her for her courage and ability, proclaiming her to be a warrior as strong and brave as Arcenea.

    Avelyn threw the dress on over her clothing, approaching the guards in front of the castle. She put on the face of a flustered, helpless young girl. “Hi, uh… where where could I apply for a job here? I can wait tables.”

    One of the guards thumbed at the door. “Just down the hallway.”

    “Thank you.”

    And yet, here she was: under a demon’s employ to assassinate the King of Ivinan on the night of the Pentamillenial Festival.

 

 

I know you said not to, but... When she's coming out of her apartment you use a — instead of a ... while it works, it's her supplying an answer after a moment, not interjecting a thought.

As a loose rule, — takes the place of a , bolded it.

Edited December 13, 2020 by Somebody from Sel

[Bearer of all agonies]

12 hours ago, Ookla the Channelknight said:

Channelknigth Arcenea. Arcenea had been the only female Channelknight in the last Order, before the war between Ivinan and Sunken Deep had begun.

That explains a lot. Thanks for the info. Also, change Channelkigth to Channelknight. Sorry. 
Great chapter Fadran! I really liked the complicities in that chapter.  

[Channelknight Fadran]

On 12/13/2020 at 0:05 AM, Somebody from Sel said:

I know you said not to, but... When she's coming out of her apartment you use a — instead of a ... while it works, it's her supplying an answer after a moment, not interjecting a thought.

As a loose rule, — takes the place of a , bolded it.

Aight, I'll take a looksie.

On 12/13/2020 at 5:00 AM, Ookla the Tortured said:

That explains a lot. Thanks for the info. Also, change Channelkigth to Channelknight. Sorry. 
Great chapter Fadran! I really liked the complicities in that chapter.  

Scud. Typos are my worst enemies.

[Bearer of all agonies]

2 hours ago, Ookla the Channelknight said:

Aight, I'll take a looksie.

Scud. Typso are my worst enemies.

They might be. . .

 

Edited December 14, 2020 by Ookla the Tortured

[Shard of Reading]

Hey Fadran, in the future could you remind me to not read all 18 or 19 chapters of your book in one sitting? Reading on a computer kills my eyes. But, it is definitely worth it. I really really really like it.

Edited December 14, 2020 by Ookla the Bored

[Channelknight Fadran]

24 minutes ago, Ookla the Bored said:

Hey Fadran, in the future could you remind me to not read all 18 or 19 chapters of your book in one sitting? Reading on a computer kills my eyes. But, it is definitely worth it. I really really really like it.

Sighs.

Reading. Buddy. My man. DO NOT READ 19 CHAPTERS IN ONE SITTING. 

Glad you liked them though.

[Shard of Reading]

3 hours ago, Ookla the Channelknight said:

Sighs.

Reading. Buddy. My man. DO NOT READ 19 CHAPTERS IN ONE SITTING. 

Glad you liked them though.

I'd been telling my self I'd read the Iconar collective for a while and I felt like I needed to stop procrastinating it.

[Channelknight Fadran]

6 minutes ago, Ookla the Bored said:

I'd been telling my self I'd read the Iconar collective for a while and I felt like I needed to stop procrastinating it.

Ah.

Well... in the name of stopping procrastination, I'll allow it.

[+JesterLavorre]

Ooh! I like this chapter. Both characters seem interesting. Oblivion seems very different than traditional demons, which I like. It’s just good to learn some more about demons, really. I wish we had some more description of what Oblivion looked like, but if you want to save that for later, that’s fine.

I was a little confused as to what Realm this took place in. I first assumed it was the demon realm, but then there were human guards talking about arcanists, so I was confused by that.

[Channelknight Fadran]

Heya, frens! If anyone would like to cameo themselves in a potentially significant character, now's the time to act!

I.E. I need some names help me plz

[Frustration]

Just now, Channelknight Fadran said:

Heya, frens! If anyone would like to cameo themselves in a potentially significant character, now's the time to act!

I.E. I need some names help me plz

I accidentaly spelled it Dlainar and now I want a character named it, but I'm not likely to do it.

So, here

*hands Fadran Dlainar*

[Channelknight Fadran]

8 minutes ago, Frustration said:

I accidentaly spelled it Dlainar and now I want a character named it, but I'm not likely to do it.

So, here

*hands Fadran Dlainar*

Will do!

[Vapor]

Sure, if you can fit Vapor in.

[Condensation]

3 hours ago, Channelknight Fadran said:

Heya, frens! If anyone would like to cameo themselves in a potentially significant character, now's the time to act!

I.E. I need some names help me plz

I have many names! Any particular vein you'd like them to be in? Specific meaning, specific gender...

[Mat]

You know my real name. And I don’t particularly care all that much if it’s a small-profile thing  

Edited February 8, 2021 by Matrim's Dice

[Chasmgoat]

4 hours ago, Channelknight Fadran said:

Heya, frens! If anyone would like to cameo themselves in a potentially significant character, now's the time to act!

I.E. I need some names help me plz

pick me!!! 

uhmm... how about Gaot...

I am not creative. Although, I am getting a small cameo right?

[Channelknight Fadran]

1 minute ago, Chasmgoat said:

pick me!!! 

uhmm... how about Gaot...

I am not creative. Although, I am getting a small cameo right?

I gave you the goat statue.